Status: Completed, but if I released the whole story at once, it would take away all the fun. ;)
Will this cloudy hell-hole ever clear?
Walking
With each day and each new hike, the group always falls into the same walking pattern: three seasoned backpackers lead the pack from a great distance, as they all fight to be the lead dog. I follow the three “leaders,” leaving an appreciable gap between them and myself. The rest of the group, including the two trip leaders, follows behind me from afar.
Although I don’t share my plans with anyone else in the group, I secretly crave mental and physical solitude. To be honest, I primarily wish to be alone so that I can safely wail at the top of my lungs to whichever song decides to enter my head.
Normally, the entirety of our group hikes forth indefinitely, until a water, snack, or bathroom break is needed, and occasionally if the bulk of our group falls far behind the “lead dogs” and I, we stop and allow them to catch up. However, today was different. Today, we hiked as though possessed, refusing to stop for anything trite. Fighting the urge to request a stop, I follow suit and press onward. The sky above still hangs greyish-white; a solid layer of marshmallow, gone wrong.
I do a fairly successful job of maintaining a distance from the other backpackers behind me and in front. I am like a soldier, marching at a constant, fast pace. Never stopping. Beneath my massive boots, pebble after pebble and rock after rock succumbs to the same fate, crushed beneath a two-hundred pound load. My legs show no mercy. Eventually, I come to a massive rock face and pause temporarily. Boulders, ranging from the size of a basketball to the size of a car, pepper the sloping, unforgiving landscape. As I analyze my current surroundings, a low cloud engulfs me, chilling me to the bone, dampening my clothes, obscuring my vision. These clouds are certainly no marshmallows. Realizing that if I remain frozen any longer, the rest of the group will reach me, I jump-start my legs and begin to climb.
My legs instantly ignite with a fiery explosion of pain. The grade of the path is around forty-five degrees. The air temperature, though probably forty-five degrees as well, does little to quench the inferno that drives my movement. Right trekking pole, right foot, left trekking pole left foot; I drudge onward, only able to see what lies within fifteen feet of my eyes. Growing uneasy due to restricted vision, I begin to sing the Georgia Tech fight song loudly, and every thirty seconds or so I disrupt the chant with a ubiquitous cry of “Hey Bear!” Thinking of Georgia Tech while hiking always reminds me of the initial metaphor that spurred the trip. Will Georgia Tech really be this difficult of an endeavor? I thoroughly hope not.
Although I don’t share my plans with anyone else in the group, I secretly crave mental and physical solitude. To be honest, I primarily wish to be alone so that I can safely wail at the top of my lungs to whichever song decides to enter my head.
Normally, the entirety of our group hikes forth indefinitely, until a water, snack, or bathroom break is needed, and occasionally if the bulk of our group falls far behind the “lead dogs” and I, we stop and allow them to catch up. However, today was different. Today, we hiked as though possessed, refusing to stop for anything trite. Fighting the urge to request a stop, I follow suit and press onward. The sky above still hangs greyish-white; a solid layer of marshmallow, gone wrong.
I do a fairly successful job of maintaining a distance from the other backpackers behind me and in front. I am like a soldier, marching at a constant, fast pace. Never stopping. Beneath my massive boots, pebble after pebble and rock after rock succumbs to the same fate, crushed beneath a two-hundred pound load. My legs show no mercy. Eventually, I come to a massive rock face and pause temporarily. Boulders, ranging from the size of a basketball to the size of a car, pepper the sloping, unforgiving landscape. As I analyze my current surroundings, a low cloud engulfs me, chilling me to the bone, dampening my clothes, obscuring my vision. These clouds are certainly no marshmallows. Realizing that if I remain frozen any longer, the rest of the group will reach me, I jump-start my legs and begin to climb.
My legs instantly ignite with a fiery explosion of pain. The grade of the path is around forty-five degrees. The air temperature, though probably forty-five degrees as well, does little to quench the inferno that drives my movement. Right trekking pole, right foot, left trekking pole left foot; I drudge onward, only able to see what lies within fifteen feet of my eyes. Growing uneasy due to restricted vision, I begin to sing the Georgia Tech fight song loudly, and every thirty seconds or so I disrupt the chant with a ubiquitous cry of “Hey Bear!” Thinking of Georgia Tech while hiking always reminds me of the initial metaphor that spurred the trip. Will Georgia Tech really be this difficult of an endeavor? I thoroughly hope not.